Juggling

Juggling (07.01.19)

Flying firebrands, caught by practised hands;

I watch the skill he wields - he understands

where the spin will end, when it’s safe to catch.

He shapes the patterns in the air, born from

simply petrol rags lit with stricken match.

I can’t imitate, just appreciate;

My own balls lie broken, far too delicate

to have been juggled - I can’t catch them all.

In my unpractised hands they lie, the ones

I’ve not yet thrown for fear they’d also fall.

Jennifer Pickup